Love
by sukikuro
Summary: "Feelings are complicated, twisted things." Spamano drabble.  Lovino's POV.  Enjoy.


**Just a little drabble.**

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><p>Feelings are complicated, twisted things. They make no sense but all the sense in the world, and is it's not quite rational to want to due away with them, no matter how appealing the idea. They change so much, infecting everything they touch with a new view or idea. Feelings leading to more feelings, an endless cycle. Feelings of family, which drive protectiveness and a random hate of that damn potato bastard, of acceptance, which have been blocked for so long, the lack of them crushing and abusing my heart like a lack of air would to my lungs. Feelings that cause anger and aggression or the ones that create the wretched anxiety that keeps me up at night.<p>

And then there are other feelings.

The feelings that swirl through my head, accompanying visions of unnaturally green eyes and brilliant, warm smiles. The feelings that confuse me more than any others. The ones that leave me glaring at the ground and kicking myself for being mushy and cliché. I hate to admit it, but the boy has that affect on me, that desperate, singing love songs and dancing and wishing for my phone to ring. And, as much as I hate it, I like it too.

That's just the way it works.

I know my feelings and so does he, but then there's those words the words everyone expects us to say. Expects us to gush and gasp like teenage girls, thrilled with some new popular star. The three words that I refuse to say, not out loud. The words that are so over used, clichéd, so manipulated and affected. Words that have bit into me for so long, the words I craved for so long, simply because I had so rarely been told them. I heard them, often, but so not to me. Never to me.

I love you.

If anyone ever asks, I have never told him those dreaded words. Not once have those words passed my lips. If the question was voiced by another, I'd spit my denial and curses venomously, and no one would believe me, at least, no one who knows us.

But, it's true.

The words, within this context at least, have never crossed my lips, nor have they graced his ears, never from me. And, though he says it in public, regularly at that, it's never said in private. Never whispered in my ear or pressed to my skin.

The phrase is taboo.

How many times has it been a lie? A bribe. Untrue. So many, too many, so we don't say it. But, we both know it. How could we not, after all, we feel it, every day, every minute, every though, all filled with the other. The phrase no longer means what it used to mean, it used to be so real, so precious, words whispered only once you knew they were true, only once you were so sure it hurt. But now, now they are so cheapened, dirtied and twisted from years of misuse. Picked and prodded and stretched until they are ruined beyond repair. And, on some level, I fear those qualities are contagious, I fear that they will rip to shreds the one thing, the one relationship I cling to like a lifeline.

It is everything.

That feeling, so strong in my chest, controlling my thoughts, is painfully real, painfully constant, impossible to escape, and impossible to dislike. That all consuming need to be near, to be together, is so perfect and beautiful as it stops my breath and constricts my heart. And, I know, that it's him. He is the thing ripping me apart and piecing me together, pulling and pushing and taking my heart as his own. But, I'm afraid that I don't mind, at first I couldn't even tell, my unaware mind didn't see that he was taking my future, my affection without my permission. I was too lost in beautiful, deep green.

He is everything.

And he loves me. I can feel it in his touch, and see it in his face, when the constant grin that lights him dies away, only to be replaced by a soft smile saved just for me. It's not faked, not cheap and bought, like the candy hearts sold in February, or short and breaking, like a summer long fling, sure to end as easily as it began. It is real, and will remain so without the help of over said sentiments.

I know that's not how most people see it.

So many wait for the day those words are said, they long for them, wish for them. But we know. We know that to have those words said would be tragedy itself. If the words were whispered in my ear, they would be uncertain in my head. If pressed to my skin, they would die in my bones. The feeling, precious and beautiful and wonderfully unreal in it's own way, would be lost. So we won't say them. We will just know.

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><p><strong>Sorry if Lovi was OOC, (hope you could tell it was him). I liked writing this though. <strong>

**Thanks for reading, review please! **


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